


Six Times John Killed Jack (And Two Times He Didn't)

by Jackdaw816



Category: Torchwood
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Series 03 Fix-It: Children of Earth (Torchwood), Sort Of, Temporary Character Death - Jack Harkness, Two Endings, Weevils (Torchwood), kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackdaw816/pseuds/Jackdaw816
Summary: Jack and John perform their rendition of the Cell Block Tango
Relationships: Alonso Frame/Jack Harkness, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness/John Hart
Comments: 48
Kudos: 53





	1. Shotgun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he was grieving

Jack had to admit, he hadn’t been this low in a long time. He hadn’t been sober for at least a week and hadn’t slept for longer. He was in some bar somewhere in space, empty except for the barkeep. One of their heads was eying him warily, the other was focusing intently on scrubbing an already clean glass. On the back wall, a shotgun hung. It caught his attention, it had been a while since he’d seen any Earth weapon that he hadn’t been carrying.

Jack lifted his glass of hypervodka and took another swig. It tasted bitter but it made it easier not to think. That was all he could ask for now. Ianto was dead. Steven was dead. He’d killed him. Both of them. And he’d ran. But he couldn’t run far enough.

The Doctor had found him, just a few weeks ago. And for just a second, Jack thought he was there to help. That Ianto’s death wasn’t fixed, that it wasn’t in vain. Alonso had inadvertently crushed that hope under his perfectly polished shoe. He’d been fun enough, but now Jack regretted not forcing his way into the TARDIS and forcing the Doctor to help him.

He drained the rest of his drink and rested his head on the bar. How was it that he’d died so many horrible ways, and yet living without Ianto hurt more than all of them? He sighed. The booze wasn’t working this time. He’d need to find something stronger. For now, he looked up and signaled for another drink.

He didn’t hear the door open. But he did hear the familiar footfalls of a man long left behind. Without looking, Jack drew a gun with one hand and drank with the other. The footfalls stopped and Jack set the glass back down with a solid thud.

“What are you doing here, John?” Jack asked calmly. He made eye contact with the barkeep’s left head. They glanced at the gun, nodded, then disappeared into a backroom. Jack spared a glance at John. Surprisingly, he didn’t have a gun pointed back, although his hand rested threateningly on the hilt of his sword. 

For a brief moment, Jack wondered if this version of John was non-linear, and therefore not John. It would be like him to fuck up while drunk and say the wrong name. He’d done it before. Maybe being sober had a few benefits. Upon closer examination, this looked like the John who had buried him alive. Same lines in the face, same weapons, same garish red jacket. 

His suspicions were confirmed when John’s sleeve slipped, and Jack caught a glimpse of the fairly fresh scar mostly hidden beneath his vortex manipulator. From the reversal of the molecular bonding. It couldn’t be more than a year old. Definitely linear. Jack looked away after a few moments longer than he intended. 

“I know you didn’t just come for the company,” Jack said when John didn’t reply. “There’re a dozen other bars in this station, full of the pretty young things you like.” He made no effort to hide the bitterness that crept into his voice. John sat down at the bar, leaving a buffer seat between them. Jack sighed and put his gun away.

“I’m sorry for your losses,” John said softly, echoing the last time they had spoken. “I would have stepped in if I’d known in time.” Jack scoffed and took another swig of his hypervodka.

“Sure,” Jack said disbelievingly. John frowned, then reached over the bar for a bottle of his own. He pulled the lid free with his teeth and took a swig. His free hand tapped out a rhythm on the bar, though not one Jack recognized. He seemed almost nervous.

“I was in Vegas, the city, when your Hub got blown up,” John explained roughly. “The news said no fatalities, so I thought you and your team were fine.” He took another drink. “Figured you’d call if you needed me.” John shrugged. “I didn’t know that he was dead until months after. Stopped by Cooper’s place, she slapped me, then told me what happened.” Jack laughed, the image of Gwen putting John in his place enough to temporarily cut through the murk. John grinned sheepishly, a hand going up to his face in remembrance.

“How is she?” Jack asked. Earth hurt too much to stay, but he did miss Gwen. But she’d always been the best suited for domesticity. “Did she have her kid?” John nodded.

“About a month old. Called her some _incredibly_ Welsh name.” John mocked halfheartedly. They both took a pull, then sat in silence for a moment, the only sound John’s tapping.

“Did she look happy?” Jack asked, voice breaking slightly. John looked at him with pity, but then who didn’t these days? He knew he looked like shit. He didn’t care.

“Yeah. As much as someone with a newborn can be.” John said, looking down at his bottle. “She misses you, but she’ll be okay. I was.” John was a notorious liar, but Jack could tell he wasn’t lying now. He raised the bottle to his lips again. Jack almost asked, then thought better of it. They were done. For better or worse.

“So why are you here?” Jack asked instead. John eyed him warily.

“Would you believe me if I said it was for the drinks?” John said, tossing his empty bottle aside to shatter and reaching for another one, this one full of a turquoise liquid that Jack knew had a kick.

“No,” Jack said, crossing his arms firmly. “There’s a reason no one else is here. Cheaper and better booze elsewhere.” John eyed him carefully.

“So why aren’t you elsewhere?” Jack internally swore, John knew him too well, even after all this time. “Why aren’t you out losing yourself in humanity and inhumanity?” John leaned in, tapping ceased, hand splayed on the bar. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

“I thought you had more decency than this.” Jack scoffed. He finished his drink and stood, taking a few steps away from his former partner. “He’s barely-“ Jack turned back around to see John staring at him, expression carefully neutral. “What?”

“You loved him,” John stated bluntly. Jack blanched.

“No, I-“ he cut himself off. He couldn’t deny it now. He couldn’t do that to Ianto.

“You _love_ him,” John said, stressing the tense. “Otherwise you’d be over him by now.” Jack started to protest, but John raised a finger. “I’ve seen you after a loss. You go for a rebound and get over yourself. Hell, I’ve been both ends of the equation. You move on. You never wallow. Not for this long.” Jack swallowed hard. “It’s been what, a few months?”

“Nine months, sixteen days,” Jack replied automatically. He’d lose track eventually, but for now, he carried the tally in his heart. Time that Ianto hadn’t gotten to have, time that Jack was forced to endure. John nodded, eyes sympathetic.

“Almost a year,” he said logically. Jack hated this, John was never logical. Calculating, yes, but never plainly logical. “How long was it after Meren died that you were back in my bed?” Jack looked away, unable to meet John’s eyes. Meren. He hadn’t thought about Meren in decades. “Three months. You loved them. But you only mourned for three months.” John drank again before continuing. “Eye Candy’s been dead for almost a year, but it still hurts you so much that you ran away from an entire planet.”

“Shut up.” Jack growled.“You don’t know anything, _anything_ about me and Ianto. Stop pretending you do.”

“I don’t know much, but I know enough.” John stood, his full height still a few inches shorter than Jack’s, but nevertheless intimidating. “Doe Eyes told me that you ran away. From her, from Earth, from your _home_.”

“I don’t have a home.” Jack snapped. “I haven’t had a home in a long time.”

“Liar,” John said, his tone singsongy. “If you were as lonely as that, you would have taken my offer and joined me in the stars. You had a home. And I don’t mean your palace under the pavement.” Jack turned away. If he had to look at John’s smug face, he’d probably punch him in it.

“Why are you here?” Jack said firmly. “I won’t ask again.” He heard more shattering glass, some scuffling, then familiar footfalls.

“Because I love you.” John stopped just behind him, but he didn’t turn around. “And because you need to move on. No matter how hard it may be.” 

“I _can’t_.” Jack shook, and he fell to his knees. “I can’t forget him. I promised-” John laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t need to forget him,” John said softly. “You just need to accept that he’s gone.” Jack made a pitiful noise that he would later deny. “Keep him in your heart, and in your mind. But you’re still alive. Ianto would want you to live.” Jack was crying now, silent tears streaming down his face.

“I don’t want to live,” Jack whispered. “Not without him.” John sighed. Ran a hand through Jack’s hair. Jack closed his eyes. “Please.”

“If my words can’t get through your skull-” If John finished the sentence, Jack couldn’t tell. He was dead from the first shot but John fired two anyway.


	2. Arsenic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he could

Another night, another bar. Jack supposed this one would count as a club back on Earth. It was bright, with enough strobe lights to give anyone a seizure. In the shadows, illegal substances changed hands, and couples got close enough to be mistaken for one. The bass shuddered through the floor and into the bar, rattling the glasses resting on it. It was the best place Jack had found in a while. Strong drinks, half-decent music, and enough creatures that he could maintain anonymity if he pleased.

An alien passed by, one resembling a satyr or a faun. Jack grinned. Humanity had gotten their tales of bacchanalia from somewhere, and it wasn’t from Earth-based magic mushrooms. The race was called the Onphi, and they were the drug dealers of the universe. Exactly what Jack was looking for now. They’d have something to dumb the pain, at least for a little while.

He reached for his glass but felt nothing but air. He turned to see John raise the glass in a mockery of cheers before draining the amber liquid. Jack felt a surge of rage course through him, but no, he didn’t want to get kicked out before he could find the Onphi.

He didn’t blame John for killing him, especially not since he’d asked for it. He was, however, mad that John had been gone when he’d woken up, leaving him to explain the blood and the broken bottles and the several more bottles that had been stolen. Not to mention that John was apparently stalking him, which made no damn sense. It was good to see his face though. 

Jack snatched the glass back and slammed it a little too hard on the bar. John took a seat next to him and grinned at him bemusedly.

“If you want a drink, get your own,” Jack grumbled. John hailed the bartender and within seconds, the pair had glasses of dark, but oddly iridescent liquid in front of them. Jack rolled his eyes. He wanted to chase down that Onphi, but now that John had locked onto him, the chances of that were quickly slipping away.

“This place has the best kahri.” John bragged, draining half of his glass. Jack eyed it warily. 

“It looks like an oil slick,” Jack complained, mostly to annoy John. It worked as John rolled his eyes and pushed the glass toward him

“You’ve spent too long in this time, even your insults are antiquated,” John said. His eyes flickered to Jack’s mouth, and before Jack could protest, John was kissing him. 

For a moment, he went with it, enjoying the familiarity, the sweet taste of the liquor in his mouth. Time seemed to freeze, and he forgot how much he _hurt_. Then John bit his lip, and reality sunk in again. Jack pulled back, and gently, but forcefully pushed John away. He went without protest, running his tongue over his lips.

“John, we can’t,” Jack said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. John smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He picked up Jack’s drink and pushed it into his hand before finishing his own. Jack took a tentative sip, it was as sweet as it had been on John’s tongue.

“I understand,” John said flatly. “Let me know when you change your mind.” Then the smile was back, still fake, but as bright as the strobes above them. “Now if you tell me you’re too good to drink with me, I’ll have to call bullshit.” Jack laughed, then drained his drink. John was right, it was good.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” Jack said teasingly. There was a hint of an actual smile on John’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a smirk and another call for the bartender. They drank on.

The pulsing music changed to something a little quieter, not much, but enough that they no longer had to shout to be heard. A bottle and a half split between them and Jack was comfortably numb. A slight headache, but he blamed that on the lights. 

John was telling him some story about a faulty airlock and three Dehcip that he was only half-listening to. John’s smile hadn’t dropped for the past five minutes, and Jack didn’t think it was because of the liquor. The Onphi passed by again, and Jack turned to watch them go. John cut off his story and watched Jack’s gaze.

“If you’re looking for oblivion, there are easier places to find it,” John said, setting his empty glass on the bar. Jack looked back at him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jack said innocently. 

“I always was the better liar.” John reached inside his jacket. Jack flinched, but instead of a weapon, John pulled out two vials. One blue, one red. Jack was reminded of a movie Ianto had shown him once, the memory bittersweet. The fact that it was sweet at all hurt. John cleared his throat, and Jack snapped back to attention. John had set the vials on the bar between them.

“What are those?” Jack asked, voice carefully neutral. John smirked and laid a finger on top of the blue one.

“This one’s an old favorite of yours.” Funny, he didn’t recognize it. The confusion must have shown on his face because John sighed. “It’s a memory agent.” Jack stiffened. “It’s been specifically tailored. Cost me a fortune. You take this and it won’t hurt anymore. You can live in blissful ignorance until you fall for another lost soul.”

“I don’t want to forget,” Jack growled. John raised his hands in surrender. 

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it would help.” He held up the blue vial, letting it catch the light. “You’ll forget him, but you won’t feel like anything’s missing. Trust me.” Jack barked out a laugh.

“Why would I trust you?” Jack said, resisting the urge to punch him and find another bar. John smiled softly.

“It works. And it’s not a broad wipe either. You can remember the last few years, just edited.” His smile dropped. “It’s nothing like what happened at the Agency. This is for the better.” Jack clenched his jaw and looked past John. He hated losing time. And he wasn’t going to lose Ianto again.

“Not interested,” Jack said, but not as firmly as he wanted. John shrugged. 

“Your loss.” He put the blue vial back on the bar and picked up the red one. “And behind door number two, we have-”

“Knowing you, it’s either a poison or an aphrodisiac,” Jack said, cutting him off. “Not what I’m looking for, thanks.”

“You don’t want it to hurt anymore, but you don’t want to forget.” John sighed. “You never were one to realize that you couldn’t have it all.”

“Neither were you.” Jack retorted. He plucked the vial from John’s grasp. “So which is it? Pain or pleasure?” John smirked knowingly.

“You know as well as I do that they go best hand-in-hand.” Jack raised an eyebrow, but John wasn’t phased. “This is a little something I picked up in the Lotus Nebula. Béke.”

“Pleasure then.” He considered the vial. It was too light and too fluid to be mistaken for blood, but it reminded him of it nonetheless. “Upper or downer?”

“Downer,” John replied smoothly. “Afterglow with none of the foreplay. Shoot up with this, and it’s nothing but bliss for the next few days. Absolutely glorious.” Jack set it back on the bar.

“Not interested.” He repeated, although with much greater hesitation. John rolled his eyes and pushed the vials toward him.

“Take them anyway. Wouldn’t want you to change your mind and come bugging me.” John insisted. Jack glared at him, but John glared right back. Eventually, Jack relented and dropped the vials into a pocket of his coat. 

“You never do anything for free,” Jack said, the vials gone, but not forgotten. “And if the Retcon really cost you a fortune, there’s no way you’d just give it away. Even to me.” He grinned, turning on the charm. “Looks like the big bad rogue is growing a conscious.” John waved a hand dismissively.

“The… Retcon, as you call it, is useless to me. Designer drug. I have no need to forget Eye Candy.” The nickname was still teasing, but it carried an amount of grief that Jack was tempted to question. His head throbbed then, bad enough to make him flinch. Damn, normally headaches were nothing. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on John.

“And the other?” Jack asked. John smirked. 

“Now, that you can pay me back for.” Jack opened his mouth to protest, but John cut him off. “Relax, I don’t want much.”

“You kiss me again and I’ll punch you,” Jack warned. John shrugged.

“Seems to be a pattern with us.” John got to his feet and offered Jack a hand. “Come dance.” Jack considered the suggestion as best he could with his head waging war against him. He shook his head.

“I shouldn’t.” 

“My intentions are completely innocent,” John said with a smile that said they weren’t.

“I don’t feel too hot. I think the kahri disagreed with me,” Jack said. He wasn’t even sure if it was a lie, his stomach was starting to twist in knots. John kept smiling and grabbed his hand.

“You’ll feel better once you get up and move,” John said, dragging Jack away from the bar. His voice was thick with the charm usually reserved for marks and Jack got the feeling that he was missing something rather important. In the crush of life and noise commonly called a dance floor, Jack would have been left behind if not for John’s almost painful grip on his hand. 

“John, I really don’t-” Jack protested weakly, but even if he could get louder than the music, John still didn’t seem to hear him. His hands felt numb, and despite the liquor he drank, his mouth tasted sour and metallic. The cramping worsened, and he barely managed to suppress the rush of nausea.

“Having fun?” John called, turning back to look. His eyes were gleaming, predatory, and not at all confused by Jack’s haggard state. Jack’s brain was lagging now, overwhelmed by the light and the noise and the horrifying realization that he’d been poisoned. 

“You… bastard.” Jack rasped out. John just smirked and swayed to the music. Jack lunged for John, ready to pound in his smug face, but missed entirely. He collapsed, seizing before he’d even hit the ground. John shook his head as the crowd continued to dance, ignorant to any foul play.

“Should’ve taken the blue.” Then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week, back to Earth (and then off to the graveyard)


	3. Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he was at the grave

Taking a deep breath of night air, Jack had to admit; it was good to be back on Earth. He drew his coat closer around himself. It was September again, and in a way, it felt like no time had passed. As if he’d simply closed his eyes, and awoken to a nightmare.

He looked at the gate of the graveyard, dark wrought iron. He’d been here before, once or twice. Never for personal reasons. Gwen had told him that this was where Ianto had been buried. He hadn’t known. He should have known.

Jack hadn’t really wanted to see Gwen, but he’d visited her that afternoon. Well, it was after one now, so yesterday. He could tell that she’d wanted to slap him, and he wouldn’t have blamed her. Instead, he’d apologized for leaving her behind, and she pulled him into a hug.

She’d offered to visit the grave with him. But he’d turned her down. This was something he had to do alone. He didn’t want her to see him cry. He didn’t want her to see him break.

He stepped up to the gate slowly, coat dragging behind him. He’d wanted to be here, but now that he was, it was all he could do to not turn tail and run. He took a deep breath and put his hand on the gate. It moved under his touch. Unlocked. Jack frowned. Why was a cemetery gate unlocked in the middle of the night?

Jack bent down and examined the lock closer. No telltale signs of being picked, at least not by ‘modern’ lockpicks. Could be staff, but he doubted it. Someone was breaking into the cemetery. Someone other than Jack. Great.

Nothing much to do about it though. Hopefully, they were already gone. Jack wasn’t in the mood. At least they’d saved him the trouble of picking the lock himself. That had never really been his thing. 

The gate swung open, silent on its hinges. The graveyard stretched out before him, markers and trees and mausoleums. It was vast, and Jack realized then that he didn’t know where the grave was. Well, he had nothing but time. 

He started to walk along the rows, scanning the stones for any hint of the name etched into his heart. It was late, but there was a full moon and Jack’s vision was better than ‘modern’ humans by scads. He moved slowly, unwilling to miss it. There were plenty of Joneses and even a few Iantos, but Jack wasn’t expecting to find it instantly. The universe would never be so kind.

As he got deeper into the graveyard, the dates started to shift. Getting later and later. Starting to overlap with Jack’s first trip of the slow path. He stopped looking at the dates. 

His heart pounded in his ears and his steps got even slower. He dragged his heels in the dirt, eying the graves with neat vases of flowers. Some had stones resting on top or beside them, others had old candles. 

He briefly regretted not bringing flowers of his own. Maybe roses. Then he dismissed the thought. They weren’t a flowers and pet names sort of couple. Ianto would have understood.

The graves were getting newer, and Jack knew he was getting close. He didn’t want to. He halted in his tracks, three rows of graves remaining. He could still leave. He could go, spend some time with Gwen and Rhys and little Anwen, then run back out to the stars and never look back. He was about to do just that when he heard the clink of glass on stone.

Jack’s head snapped toward the sound. A row ahead and to the left. The intruder hadn’t left after all. His hand went to his gun and he fell into battle mode, inching forward silently. He turned down the row and froze, gun at the ready. Well. At least he knew which grave was Ianto’s now.

About five graves down, John was kneeling in the grass in front of a simple marble grave. A glass decanter rested on top, full of blood-red wine. Almost certainly placed there by John himself. Alcohol was his form of apologizing. Also celebrating. Jack wasn’t sure which applied here.

Jack took a couple of steps closer, but John didn’t notice him. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was moving silently. Jack couldn’t read his lips from the side, but if he didn’t know better, he’d say John was praying.

Religion spawned anywhere there were enough people. There had been an official church of Boeshane, but Jack’s family hadn’t been believers. John came from a larger colony with at least a dozen religions, but as far as he knew, John had never practiced any of them. He didn’t have trust in anything but himself.

And yet there he was, on his knees in the dirt before the grave of a man he’d met twice. Looking like the image of grief and piety. It was enough to make Jack’s blood boil. 

“You!” Jack shouted, pulling his gun. John startled, scrambling to his feet and pulling a gun. Upon seeing Jack, he relaxed slightly, his panicked expression melting into a smirk. He dropped his gun back into its holster. Jack didn’t. He sprinted the final few steps, brandishing his gun threateningly. 

“Jack-” John stammered, then ducked to dodge the shot Jack fired for his head. “Holy fuck!” Jack fired again, almost clipping John’s ear. John lunged, grabbing for his gun. It went off twice, both shots aimed skyward. They grappled for a moment more, John succeeding in taking his gun.

Before John could use it against him, Jack punched him in the jaw. Hard. He went down, the gun falling out of his hand. Jack went after him, pinning him to the ground and punching him again. And again. He heard the crack of cartilage and the familiar pain of shattered knuckles. Ah, shit.

Jack stopped in his assault for a moment or two, and that was enough for John to regain his wits. He grabbed ahold of Jack’s coat and rolled. Suddenly, Jack was swept up in memory. Rolling around on the floor of that warehouse with Ianto. Catching Myfanwy, and letting Ianto into Torchwood and into his heart.

Then Jack was on the bottom, looking up at John, and the memory was gone again. Both men were panting, and blood was dripping from John’s now broken nose. A few drops fell on his coat and Jack felt another surge of rage. Before he could break free and throttle the little bastard, there was the rattle of metal and John was cuffing his hands.

“Uh-uh.” John gasped. “Can’t have you breaking anything else.” Jack thrashed, but John had him well pinned, straddling his hips with practiced ease. Damn him.

“Fuck you.” Jack spat. “Why the hell are you here, John?” John leaned in closer, pressing down on Jack’s shoulder with one hand. Jack tried to headbutt him, but he stayed carefully out of range. Blood was dripping on Jack’s face now, gross, but not unfamiliar.

“To pay my respects,” John said coldly. His other hand pressed a gun to Jack’s abdomen, although he couldn’t tell if it was his own or one of John’s. “Same as you.” John pulled back but kept his hands where they were. Jack laughed, blood salty on his tongue.

“Ianto wouldn’t want you here,” Jack said, but John just laughed.

“Oh really? Who would you rather visit your grave?” John asked. Jack just stared up at him, and John rolled his eyes. “Hypothetically, then. Would you rather have an acquaintance come sit with you and leave you a gift? Or have the man you love attempt to _murder_ someone?” 

“You’re one to talk,” Jack growled. “Thanks for the poison, you bastard.” John shrugged.

“Oh, that was nothing. Call it payment for the memory agent and the béke.” John cocked his head. “Speaking of which, you obviously didn’t take the blue pill. Did you have fun with the red then?” Jack shook his head.

“Never used it. Pawned it to get me on the ship to Earth.” John shook his head.

“What a waste.” He looked down at Jack. “Look, I’ll let you up if you stop trying to kill me.”

“Fine,” Jack spat. John was right about one thing. Ianto wouldn’t like it if Jack killed him on his grave. John got off him fairly gracefully, then sat cross-legged in the grass. Jack sat up, then held out his cuffed hands. “These too.” John glanced at him.

“Nah.” He set Jack’s gun beside him, out of Jack’s range, then reached up to prod lightly at his nose. “Those are a precaution.”

“You really are a bastard,” Jack said, although he wasn’t sure why he was surprised. John shrugged.

“Don’t say that around my mums, or they’ll redefine pain for you,” John said absentmindedly. Jack watched as he palpated his nose, wincing at every touch. “This is really fucked up. I’d congratulate you if it wasn’t my nose you broke.” Jack shrugged.

“You did kill me.” Jack pointed out. John laughed lightly.

“Fair enough. I’ll have to jump forward, get this fixed properly,” He cast a sideways glance at Jack. “Not letting my looks get spoiled over one measly death.” Jack grinned innocently.

“I dunno. Crooked noses are rugged,” Jack teased. John gave him an almost hopeful look, then glared at him.

“Shut up,” John said half-heartedly. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a mostly clean cloth. He wiped away most of the blood from his face, wincing at his split lip and the spot on his jaw that Jack knew would bruise badly. Then he offered the cloth to Jack. “I’d apologize for bleeding on you, but that seems a waste.” Jack hesitated, then took the cloth with his cuffed hands.

“I’m surprised you’d even considered it,” Jack said, running the cloth over the bloodied skin. John shrugged.

“People change, _Jack_ ,” John said, saying his name in a way that implied his old one. Jack tossed the bloody cloth back at John and he tucked it away easily. What a bitch. Jack looked past John and at Ianto’s grave. Oh god, his grave.

It was simple, made of marble and inscribed with black lettering. His name, his birth date, and his death date. There was no further inscription, no epitaph, nothing to show much much he’d been loved. Nothing but the decanter of wine resting on top. (Somehow it hadn’t been knocked off during their fight.) A wave of grief hit Jack square in the chest. He should have been there.

“Why weren’t you at the funeral?” John asked quietly. Jack whipped his head around to look at him. If the bastard was reading his mind, he would actually kill him. John didn’t react, so probably not mind reading. He was shielded anyway. Which begged the question…

“How do you know I wasn’t there?” Jack asked sharply. 

“Because I was,” John answered. He didn’t elaborate, and Jack wasn’t sure if he wanted him to. He looked back at the grave.

“Same reason I left Earth,” Jack answered, equally brief. John nodded, and they sat for a moment in silence. Then John got to his feet. Jack watched as he approached the grave, then reached into his jacket. He pulled out something small, a coin maybe, and set it beside the decanter.

“I wish I’d known him better,” John admitted, not turning back to face Jack. Jack eyed his gun in the grass. He moved slowly, trying not to rattle his chains. “Almost anyone could capture your heart. But he managed to keep it.” Jack wrapped his hand around the handle. Two bullets left.

“He was special,” Jack said, his voice carefully measured. John nodded, and Jack stood up almost silently.

“I could see it.” Jack took a careful step. “He would have made a fine Time Agent. Strong, calculating.” Another step.

“He was too good for the Agency.” Another nod.

“You’re right. They didn’t hire those with morality.” Jack took a third step, and his cuffs clinked. John whirled around, knife falling out of his sleeve and into his hand. They stepped together and the blade slotted neatly between Jack’s ribs. “And that’s why I was the best.” John grabbed the gun with his other hand and threw it away.

Jack stumbled backward, feeling the familiar burn. John pushed him and he fell back onto the grass. John straddled him and brought the knife down again. And again. And again. And again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Then one final time, piercing his still beating, ever-loving heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway through Jack's deaths! I promise things get better for him. Sort of. ;)


	4. Decanter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he was not okay

Jack gasped back to life, instinctively reaching out. He knew it was pointless. No one would be there. The only person who ever had been was dead. So it was with great confusion that arms gripped and held him.

For a moment, he let himself hope. Hope that the last fifteen months were nothing but a fever dream. Hope that Ianto was not dead and gone, but instead was holding him tight; protecting and reassuring in one beautiful gesture. Hope that he could be happy again. 

Then he opened his eyes, and John was looking down at him and his heart sank. What was he doing here? Jack hadn’t seen him since the graveyard. One arm was wrapped around his chest, the other was brushing lightly through his hair. It was almost comforting, but all it did was remind him of what he’d lost. He sat up, and John let him go.

“The Weevils?” Jack rasped, looking around. The street was abandoned, but not yet dark. There was one crumpled a couple of meters away, but Jack couldn’t spot the other.

“Shot the one that mauled you,” John said calmly. “The other one scrammed when I played that ole recall signal.” He held up his right wrist. Ah, his vortex manipulator was probably the source of the interference that had caused him to fatally miss the second Weevil.

Jack’s eyes went to the skin of John’s wrist, expecting to see the scar from molecular bonding. It was gone. Jack looked up at his face; his nose was flawless as well. John noticed him staring and smirked.

“Like what you see?” John said, raising an eyebrow in the way that used to drive Jack mad. It still kinda did. Damn him. “Nanogenes work wonders.” Jack waved his hand dismissively.

“They’ve only caused me trouble.” Although, without them, he probably never would have met Rose and the Doctor. Trouble often came in the most beautiful packages. Example one- “Are you stalking me?” John looked affronted.

“I would never- okay, well, I would. But not this time!” John said. He got to his feet and brushed non-existent dirt off his trousers. “Now, do I need to cuff you again, or are you done trying to kill me?” Jack stood as well.

“For now. But I’m watching you.” Jack warned. John put his hands up innocently. He was still mad, but it had died down from the outrage it had been. Now it was just enough that they would have fabulous hate sex if Jack ever gave in. Not that he planned to. He still had some self-restraint and the shattered shards of his dignity.

Reminding himself that he still had a Weevil corpse to deal with, Jack looked around. Somehow, the gunshot and his own death hadn’t attracted any attention. But it wouldn’t be long before someone stumbled upon them. He raised a hand to his throat and looked down at his shirt, the light blue turned dark with blood. He closed his coat over it, it would need to be cleaned anyway, and maybe this way he could avoid spooking the civilians.

“Alright, you’re helping me,” Jack ordered. John rolled his eyes but didn’t complain. “The SUV is parked two streets over, go get it- wait,” he said as John started to move. “Can you even drive?” John scoffed.

“Of course, I can drive.” He eyed Jack mischievously. “After all, I wasn’t the one who crashed that stolen ship before we’d even gotten off-world-”

“That was your fault, you distracted me!” John just smirked. “Okay, fine, here,” Jack relented, tossing him the keys, which he caught one-handed. “Don’t speed, don’t readjust the seats, and if you scratch it, Gwen will flay you. It’s new.” John gave a sarcastic salute before jogging off. Jack realized belatedly that he hadn’t said which way the SUV was. Stalker. 

Jack turned his attention back to the Weevil corpse. Its teeth were red with Jack’s blood and there was a fairly neat exit wound in the center of its forehead. John had always been the better shot. God, Jack hated him. But he loved him in equal measure.

Jack sat on the curb and sighed. He hated waiting, but he’d learned patience while taking the slow path. John wouldn’t be too long. Jack had told him not to speed, but he wouldn’t listen. As long as he didn’t run anyone over, Jack’d take it as a win. He pulled out his mobile and made a quick call. He got Gwen’s voicemail and left a short message about what had happened and that the situation had been handled. He didn’t mention John. With luck, he wouldn’t need to.

Jack heard the rumble of the SUV before he saw it. He turned to watch as it roared around the corner, almost clipping a street light. It was speeding, and also driving on the wrong side of the street. Bastard. It pulled to a screeching halt beside Jack. The window rolled down and John whistled. 

“Going my way, handsome?” He called. Jack rolled his eyes.

“I’m beginning to rethink my stance on killing you,” Jack replied calmly. John made a show of zipping his lips. “Get a body bag out of the back and come help me.” 

Between the two of them, it was easy to get the Weevil zipped up and safely stored away. Even now, they still worked well together, words almost unnecessary. John slammed the door a little too hard, then dusted his hands off.

“There, job done,” John said, turning his attention back to Jack. “What’s next?”

“I’m going to dispose of this corpse,” Jack said firmly. He jabbed a finger into John’s chest. “And you are going to get out of my city before I have to dispose of you too.” John grinned, although it felt more like a bearing of teeth than a show of good humor.

“Thought we were past that territorial schtick,” John said, taking a half step back. 

“You aren’t welcome here,” Jack growled. John didn’t back down, instead biting back.

“Who died and made you captain?” The original Captain Jack. Alex Hopkins. And no doubt many others whose names had been lost to the sands of time and Jack’s fading memory.

“Pot calling the kettle black, _Captain Hart._ ” Jack snapped. John’s current name was a joke, and that was coming from the same man who’d once called himself Anakin.

“Hey, we may not have had ranks back at the Agency, but I was the senior partner!” John reminded him. True, John used to be five years older. That hadn’t lasted long. Time travel, and then immortality had tipped the scales in Jack’s favor (or disfavor.) John's voice had risen a half step and Jack grinned. He was flustered.

“Emphasis on senior. Nanogenes did nothing for your wrinkles, sorry, laugh lines.” Jack mocked. John’s hand went threateningly to the hilt of his sword.

“Says the man who’s over two millennia old!” John spat.

“And I _kept_ my good looks.” Jack boasted, hiding his discomfort with a leer. “Besides, whose fault was that?” John’s eyes flashed in warning, but Jack didn’t care. “Oh, right, yours!” Jack goaded. He only realized that he might have crossed a line when John drew his sword.

“Gray wasn’t my brother! I didn’t give two shits about him! I only cared about you. I was trying to help you, otherwise, I wouldn’t haven’t bothered. I did one nice thing and it almost literally blew up in my face. Like it’s my fault that he was fucking insane!” John raged. He took a step forward, and Jack took two steps back, almost tripping over the curb.

“John, I’m sorry,” Jack said, eyes watching the sword warily. “It’s not your fault that he tricked you.”

“But it is!” John spat. “Gray was so broken when I found him. How could he pose a threat? I let my guard down. And he managed to con the conman. He let me trust him. And he-” John’s voice broke just a little. Jack tried to meet his eyes, but John looked away. The sword trembled in his hand. “Did he survive the explosion?” Jack blinked. What was he- 

_Oh._

“No,” Jack said, the word catching in his throat. John sheathed his sword.

“Good. Otherwise, I would have killed him myself.” There was a familiar amalgam of joy and malice in his words. Jack felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Only John could be more threatening after he’d put his weapon away. 

“What did he do to you?” Jack asked carefully. John leaned against the SUV, appearing relaxed to the untrained eye. Jack knew he could still shoot a man dead in seconds. 

“That’s a long story. And one I’m fairly certain you don’t want to hear,” John said. His fingers drummed a pattern on the metal, definitely a nervous tic. Jack wondered when he’d picked it up. Or maybe how he’d missed it. Jack looked around. The sun was starting to go down, casting long shadows on the pavement.

“Definitely not here,” Jack said. He stared at John for a few seconds. John was probably trying to look like he was calm and in control, relaxing against the SUV. With the fidgeting and the shifty glances, he looked a lot more like a cocaine addict. Jack didn’t want to think about how accurate that was. 

He really should’ve told John to go, then taken the SUV and left himself. Instead, he pulled out his mobile and made a call. Johnson picked up on the second ring and thankfully didn’t complain when Jack told her where to pick up the SUV. John eyed him curiously as he hung up.

“So you’ve expanded your little team,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Got a blond now?” Jack shook his head.

“Not yet.” Jack stepped on the curb and gestured with his head. “Come on, we’re walking.” John groaned and Jack smiled. “If you insist on sticking around in this time, you’ll have to get used to it.” Jack started walking and John hurried after him.

“All the adequate-at-best, pollutant-spewing transport in this time and you still have to go on foot. It’s degrading,” John bitched. 

“Hey, at least the streets are paved,” Jack said, grinning fondly. “You missed the period where it was all cobblestones and bigotry. Now there’s just bigotry.” 

“There’s always prejudice. It just changes its mask.” John shook his head, then changed the topic. “Remember when we were on assignment in, what was it, New New York, 17-something?” he reminisced, falling in step beside Jack. 

“New York, 1781.” Jack corrected him. “A good thing you didn’t have that coat then, you’d probably have gotten us shot.” Jack frowned. “When did you get that coat?” John waved a hand dismissively.

“That’s a different story.” John deflected. “Anyway, it was like your third mission with me. I’m a pro by this point, you’re still hurling after the jumps.” Jack rolled his eyes. He had an inkling where he was going with this.

“Your point?” Jack prompted, ignoring the urge to call him by his old name. Now was not the time for a slip of tongue.

“We land and we’re in a nice deserted barn. You’re so excited to be on your first trip to Earth that you don’t look where you step and instantly tread in horse shit.” Jack’s nose wrinkled. Right. 

“Then you almost got us hung as horse thieves and sodomizers.” Jack pointed out. 

“Oh, we were fine. Could have jumped away at any time,” he said nonchalantly. He sighed. “It was simpler when we were oblivious.” Jack nodded. They hadn’t hit their stride until after their five years in the loop, but early on? It’d been nice. He hadn’t been innocent, but he’d been hopeful. Ignorance is bliss after all.

Jack drew to a halt as they reached the building his flat was in. John kept walking, then turned on his heel as he realized Jack had stopped. Jack hiked a thumb at the building.

“We’re stopping here,” Jack said. “I’m not letting you into my base again.” John’s eyes swept over the building as Jack fit the key into the lock.

“So instead you’re letting me into your flat? Very smart,” John drawled, sauntering back to Jack’s side. Jack hesitated, hand on the doorknob. Right, maybe that wasn’t his best move. Too late now. He opened the door.

“It’s not mine. Torchwood owns the building, I’m just staying here while I’m in town.” Jack explained as they entered the building.

“And how long have you been in town?” John asked, following Jack up the stairs and almost certainly staring at his ass. 

“Three months.” John whistled. At what exactly, Jack wasn’t sure. “And how long have _you_ been in town?” Jack deflected. They rounded a corner and Jack caught sight of John’s smirk.

“Since yesterday. Would have found you sooner, but I was busy taking in some of the local color,” John said, dragging a hand along the rail. They reached the fourth floor. There was roof access, and Jack considered leading John there instead. But they didn’t have the best track record with roofs.

“In Cardiff a whole day and you didn’t get in any trouble,” Jack remarked, unlocking the door to (not) his flat. “That has to be a new record.” John shrugged.

“Some copper tried to book me for the guns.” Jack pushed the door open and John followed him through it. John tried to pass the foyer and Jack stopped him with a splayed hand to the chest.

“Boots off,” he ordered, bending down to remove his own. “Tried?” John rolled his eyes but complied, undoing straps and buckles with practiced ease.

“I convinced him there was a much better use of our time,” John said. “Such a gentleman too. Insisted on taking me back to his when the alley out back would have done just fine.” 

Down to socked feet, Jack walked deeper into the flat, John still trailing behind him. He flicked the light on, illuminating the small room. The decor was rather spartan, but like he’d told John, it was temporary.

“I see why you appreciate the Welsh.” John continued. “Blondie can cuff me any… time.” John trailed off, and Jack turned around. John was still, eyes fixed on something. He followed his gaze to the glass decanter resting on the table. Oh.

“Don’t start,” Jack warned. “Technically, you’re not supposed to leave food or drink in that graveyard. And especially not alcohol.” John’s eye roll showed what he thought of that rule. “It would have been tossed anyway.”

“So instead you robbed your boyfriend’s grave,” John said, perching on the arm of the couch. Jack glared at him, and sat down in an armchair that Gwen had… borrowed from Ianto’s storage unit to furnish the flat. He would have been mad if it hadn’t made the flat feel almost like home.

“It wasn’t grave robbing,” Jack argued. “More like picking up the rubbish.” John gasped, but his grin told Jack it was teasing rather than genuine.

“Bold of you to assume that I would bring Eye Candy anything but the best.” John picked up the decanter and lightly swirled the wine inside. “It’s Ribosian, absolute hell to get through customs. Well, it would be if I needed to get through customs.” John said, tapping his VM with a finger. He weighed the decanter in his hand and frowned. “And you didn’t even drink any of it.”

“I’ve been sober since I’ve been back on Earth,” Jack admitted. He expected mockery, but John just nodded and set the decanter back on the table.

“Good for you. But still a waste of fine wine.” John sighed. If he tried to steal it back, Jack would let him. He wasn’t sure why he’d kept it instead of pawning it off on Gwen, or just throwing it in the bin. Jack shook his head slightly.

“You said it’s a long story,” Jack said, abruptly changing the topic. John stiffened, metaphorical hackles rising. “Give me the abridged version if you have to, but tell me.” John shook his head.

“You don’t want to know, Jack,” John said, his voice low and dangerous. “He wasn’t the same Gray you knew. You knew a child. I knew a man who’d learned terrible things and used them guiltlessly.” John stood, towering over Jack in the armchair. “I’m _fine_. And even if I wasn’t, you don’t care. So keep your childhood memories from fracturing more than they already have, and _stop asking._ ” 

“John,” Jack said, rising to his feet. John waved a dismissive hand and snatched the decanter from the table. He retreated across the flat and pulled the stopper. Jack approached slowly as he took a swig. “What makes you think I don’t care?” John almost choked on the wine. He coughed, then started to laugh.

“Counterpoint, why should I think that you do care?” John argued. “You push me away at best, try to kill me at worst.” He laughed again, then brought the decanter back to his lips. Jack watched as he leaned against the kitchen table, fingers tapping that same nervous rhythm. 

“I’m always chasing you, and for what?” John continued. “A stolen kiss or two, some bittersweet memories, and then I’m out on my arse and back where I started.” He drank deeper and Jack took a tentative step closer.

“John, you know I love you,” Jack said and was surprised to find that he meant it. John rolled his eyes.

“You love everyone, Jack. You’ve got a bleeding heart the size of your ego.” John pushed himself off the table and stalked toward Jack. “You’ll forgive anyone for anything if you think it’ll get them to stay.” John stood in front of Jack, close enough that he could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Anyone but me. I’m irredeemable in your eyes. A living, breathing reminder of a life you left behind.”

“You’re more than that,” Jack promised. John laughed morosely.

“I really don’t think so.” The first blow knocked him backward onto the floor. The second one came with a sickening crack. Jack couldn’t tell if there was a third.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! Next chapter, someone new makes an appearance.


	5. Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he can't be replaced

The new Hub had only been completed for about three weeks, but Jack was already feeling at home. Gwen and he had worked hard to make sure it resembled the original. They hadn’t replaced the tourist center. No point. No one wanted to man it.

Jack was especially fond of the holding cells. The lower levels were original, but the upper nine had been rebuilt. They were strong before, but now they were strong enough to hold anything from a Weevil to a Judoon. Currently, one was holding John.

Two days ago, Johnson had been doing whatever she did in her free time when she’d run into John. She’d known nothing of his history with Torchwood but recognized his vortex manipulator. She’d assumed that he’d stolen it from Jack, and promptly arrested him.

(The fact that she’d managed to bring John in without a scratch on her part scared Jack more than he’d like to admit.)

John had been in a cell since. Jack refused to go down there, but he also wouldn’t let John go. Gwen had asked, and Martha, and even Lois chimed in. Jack had said it was because he was a threat, and refused to elaborate. To be honest, he himself didn’t know.

Jack stood by the window in his office and watched as the others left. He was currently the only man working for Torchwood, again. Not that it really mattered, but it was funny that it had happened twice. Jack sighed. He should go home too

Maybe it should scare him that he was thinking of the Torchwood flat as home. He’d lived there for five months now, and while that wasn’t a lot by Earth standards, or even Jack’s prolonged timeline, the Time Agent in Jack, the part of him that had never laid ties to any place longer than a month for almost fifteen years, was adamant in his attachment. Maybe it had something to do with his company.

Alonso Frame had come planetside a week ago. Since Jack knew him and he wasn’t a threat, he was being quartered in the flat across from Jack’s. They were… hooking up, for lack of a better term. He hadn’t said outright that he’d come to Earth for Jack, but it was pretty obvious. He’d have to send Alonso on his way soon, but for the moment, it was nice to have someone to hold.

Jack sat back down at his desk and pulled up the CCTV of the cells. He quickly found John’s cell and watched as he paced angrily. He’d been relieved of his VM, weapons, belt, and boots. They’d even taken his coat, leaving John without an exaggerated persona to hide behind. He looked a fair bit less intimidating in just a t-shirt and trousers. But that only made him more volatile.

John didn’t take well to captivity. Lois had been sent to bring him food and had come back to Jack almost in tears. Johnson was the only one who didn’t seem frightened of him, and so had been put in charge of making sure he didn’t escape or die. 

On the screen, John aimed a kick at the transparent cell wall. It did nothing but rattle the thick plastic and he swore, rubbing his foot. He limped over to the back wall and sat down, head resting against the dark stone. It had been a while since Jack had seen him so helpless.

Jack switched off the feed and stood. Everyone was gone now, the Hub quiet without even Myfanwy to break up the still. (She had escaped the explosion but migrated up to Scotland where Archie made sure she got her dark chocolate and didn’t spook the locals.) Alonso would be expecting him, but he could wait. First, he had to speak to John.

He heard John before he saw him. His voice carried out of the cells and up the corridor. He was singing. Jack paused just outside of the cells and listened. He’d heard John sing before. Five years of boredom had led to a lot of drunken karaoke. But this was different. 

It wasn’t in English or even Standard. John didn’t speak his first language much, even when they were partners. He’d overheard snatches from John’s vidcalls home, just enough to identify the language now. The song was something boisterous, most likely a drinking song. His voice was decent, not much technique, but a bit of natural talent. 

Jack listened for a few more moments before pushing the door open with a clatter. John instantly stopped singing, instincts kicking in. He’d probably thought he was alone for the night. Just him and Brad the Weevil. (Jack stood by that name, damn it.)

“If that’s Johnson, the offer stands,” John called. “If it’s anyone else, fuck off.” Jack slowly walked down to the end cell. Brad the Weevil snarled at him as he passed. He stepped into John’s view.

“I doubt she wants what you’re offering,” Jack said. John looked up, and Jack instantly noticed the black eye. It was a few days old, the swelling almost completely down, and the skin yellowing. When John realized it was him, he smirked and made a rude gesture.

“So the boss has finally deigned to visit,” John quipped, leaning against the far wall. “I gotta tell you, the accommodations are shit. One star and I’m being generous. Also, your hiring policy is incredibly biased.” Jack resisted the urge to smile. Only John could be so confident from the inside of a cell.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Jack feigned. “It’s dry and there’s only one rat. Much better than that hoosegow on Kataris Three.” John scowled at him. “And what do you mean, I’m biased?” Jack added as an afterthought.

“Kataris Three was your fault,” John grumbled. “And you’re biased. All your little teammates are hot.” Jack frowned. “It’s a shame the pretty ones break so easily.” 

“Looks like Johnson broke you,” Jack said. John gingerly touched his swollen eye.

“She’s a firecracker.” John grinned. “Wherever did you find her?”

“You have a lot in common,” Jack said, his brain drawing painful connections.

“Brilliant mind? Great arse?” John suggested and Jack rolled his eyes. 

“She blew up my base and then buried me alive.” The grin on John’s face dropped as fast as it had appeared. At first, Jack thought he was offended by the (accurate) comparison. Then he realized he could practically see the gears turning in his head. John stepped closer and slammed a hand on the clear barrier.

“So she was working for the same government that killed Eye Candy, that killed _Ianto_ , and you just let her join your little band of misfits?” John spat, eyes cold. Jack took an instinctive step back. What? John had shown some grief at Ianto’s death, but nothing beyond that. He understood John’s rage but had no clue what loyalty prompted it.

“She helped us in the end.” Jack defended. Honestly, Gwen had been the one to hire Johnson. Jack had initially protested for the very reason John had stated. John scoffed.

“And so did I.” He threw up his hands dramatically. “And see what that got me! Stuck in a cell indefinitely and without a reason given.” 

“You’ve murdered me four times since the events of the 456.” Jack pointed out, ignoring the pang of sadness.

“Two!” John argued. “And it doesn’t really count with your immortal arse.” Jack shook his head.

“Four.” Jack briefly worried about linearity, but the scar was gone, so this had to be the right version. He listed them off on his fingers. “Shot me in the bar, poisoned me in the club, stabbed me in the graveyard, and then bludgeoned me in my own flat.”

“You begged me to shoot you,” John said, something unreadable in his tone. “Doesn’t count.” He cocked his head, suddenly confused. “And you were alive when I left the last time.” Jack thought back. It was possible that he had healed rather than revived if John wasn’t lying. But then again, when wasn’t he lying?

“Even if that’s true, it wouldn’t make any difference,” Jack said dismissively. “You’ve done more than enough to justify leaving you to rot.” John slammed a fist against the plexiglass.

“You wouldn’t dare.” he hissed. Jack raised an eyebrow. John knew better than to challenge him. Or at least he used to.

“Just watch me, you bast-” Jack’s threat was cut off by the sound of footsteps. John’s face grew wary and he took a few steps back. Jack turned to look down the corridor, posture stiff.

“Jack?” A voice called. “Are you down here?” Alonso stepped into view, but Jack didn’t relax completely. What was he doing here?

“What are you doing here?” Jack asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral. Alonso came closer, then let out a yelp as Brad snarled at him. John laughed despite his view being blocked. Alonso recovered his composure, then took a big step away from Brad’s cell.

“I ran into Lois at the flats,” Alonso started to answer. Right, she was staying there temporarily while her place was being fumigated. “And she told me that today is a holiday, one that celebrates relationships! So I thought I’d catch you before you got home and we could go-” Alonso cut off at Jack’s look.

“How’d you get in here?” Jack specified. Alonso blushed lightly and held up a Torchwood swipe card. 

“Lois lent me her key.” Jack frowned. He’d have to talk to her about that. What if Alonso had an ulterior motive? It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Brilliant security, Jacky,” John drawled. Jack shot him a warning look.

“It’s keeping you here, isn’t it?” he retorted. John looked like he was going to snark back when his face paled, almost as if he’d seen a ghost. Jack realized that Alonso had stepped into John’s line of sight.

“What’s wrong?” Alonso asked, either oblivious that John was locked away or kind despite it. Color returned to John’s face and he snarled, completely ignoring Alonso. He rushed up to the barrier, nose almost brushing the plexiglass.

“When I said move on, I didn’t mean shag Eye Candy’s less handsome double,” John said, voice low and cold, not for Alonso’s benefit, but out of barely contained rage. “What the fuck are you thinking, Jack?” Jack blinked, confused. 

Alonso didn’t look that much like Ianto, did he? Jack tried not to stare as he stared at Alonso’s face, comparing features in his mind’s eye. Alonso was smiling timidly, obviously confused. John glanced between them and rolled his eyes.

“Obviously, you aren’t thinking,” he muttered. He grinned at Alonso, bright and incredibly fake. “Hey, kiddo, while Captain Idiot is busy getting his ducks in a row, mind letting me out?” John said, nodding at the swipe card still in Alonso’s hand. Alonso held it up, but Jack snatched it out of his hand before he could use it.

“Nice try, John,” Jack said, dropping the card in a pocket of his greatcoat. John shrugged and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. Alonso looked nervously at John.

“What did he do?” Alonso asked, casting a sideways glance at Jack.

“Murder,” John answered gleefully. The nervousness on Alonso’s face melted into revolt. Jack glared at him reproachfully. “Hey, I went to rehab! S’not my fault it didn’t really take.”

“What you really need is to be put down like the dog you are,” Jack snapped. John didn’t flinch; Jack didn’t see Alonso’s face. “You’re just lucky that we have policies preventing me from shooting you where you stand.”

“And when have you ever listened to policy?” John reminded him. Jack drew his gun and aimed for the holes in the cell door. Alonso gasped, but Jack didn’t care. 

“No one would care if I killed you,” Jack growled. “You have to be liked to be mourned.”

“Then do it, coward.” John goaded, spreading his arms wide. “Kill me, lover.” Jack fired and Alonso swore. The bullet grazed John’s side before hitting the back wall of the cell.

“Jack, stop,” Alonso said when he aimed to fire again. John laughed maniacally, blood staining the heather gray fabric dark. “Just leave him!” The gun shook in Jack’s hand.

“Fine,” Jack spat and shoved his gun back in its holster. “You’re lucky there’s a witness.”

“Funny, you don’t seem to care that there wasn’t one when I killed-“ John cut off, and glanced at Alonso. “Does your boy toy know?” _That you’re immortal_ was left unsaid.

“No,” Jack said, ignoring Alonso’s curious look. “So hold your tongue.” John rolled his eyes and sat down, legs folding under him. The rage seemed to drain out of him, and he turned to examine his wound.

“Fine,” John said, tone subdued. Jack felt Alonso’s hand on his shoulder. Jack turned and instantly noticed how shaken Alonso looked.

“Let’s go.” Alonso pled, casting a worried glance at John. “We don’t have to go out, but-” 

“No,” He took Alonso’s hand. “Let’s go out. Consider it an apology.” Jack cast a scathing glance at John. He’d taken his shirt off and was pressing it up against his wound. He met Jack’s eyes calmly. 

“John brings out the worst in me.” Jack continued, aiming his words where they would hurt. John looked unphased but for the clench of his jaw. Jack turned back and Alonso kissed him. John whistled at them.

“Shut up.” Alonso snapped, and Jack just had to kiss him again. When they broke apart, Jack turned back to the cell one final time.

“I’ll deal with you in the morning,” Jack threatened. John smiled a very unsettling smile.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’ll be gone by then.” John promised, and it scared Jack that he wasn’t lying. He didn’t let it show.

“Either way, you’re not my problem tonight,” Jack said contemptuously. He turned and offered an arm to Alonso. “Shall we go?” 

“Yes, let’s,” Alonso said, taking his arm gratefully. They left, and Jack tried to ignore John’s silence. He was dangerous when he was raving, even more so when he was silent.

A few hours later, Jack and Alonso stumbled into Jack’s flat. They’d had a nice dinner and Alonso had just a little too much wine. They were laughing as they fumbled with buttons and buckles. Jack pushed Alonso up against the bedroom door and captured his mouth. Neither of them heard the quiet thud of boots on carpet.

Alonso grabbed Jack by his braces and pushed him onto the bed. Jack went willingly, his hands roaming blindly, undoing fasteners as he went. Alonso pulled back slightly, and Jack caught a glimpse of something reflecting the moonlight. 

Before he could question it, or get a better look, Alonso screamed. Jack looked between them. He resisted the urge to scream at the blade protruding through Alonso’s chest and piercing Jack’s stomach. He couldn’t feel the pain, just pressure and a dull sense of dread.

“Alonso, it’s going to be okay,” Jack reassured uncertainly. The sword had definitely punctured a lung, but as long as it stayed in-

The sword was withdrawn with a sick squelch and Jack swore. Alonso collapsed onto him, coughing weakly, blood soaking into his shirt. John stood there, sword aloft and bloody, his smile sinister. He’d been kitted out, vortex manipulator back on his wrist and coat back on his shoulders.

“You’re getting better, but for all your efforts, you just can’t get it right,” John said, and Jack had no clue what the hell he meant. Jack reached for his gun, then realized that his holster had been lost out in the hall. John stepped closer to where Jack was pinned under terrifyingly dead weight.

“Why?” Jack hissed. John clucked his tongue and raised his sword.

“Maybe this way you’ll learn,” John brought the sword down, and Jack died with an apology on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry? No, I'm not. Next week, Jack's last death. Good for him.


	6. Belt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he couldn't have him (not entirely)

_Alonso was in cold storage, and Jack was on the warpath. Killing an immortal, that was one thing. Jack had been mad, but he probably would have calmed down and let John go after a little more threatening. Now, he would be lucky if Jack didn’t just put a bullet through his head and call it a day. Alonso had been innocent, his only failing was looking a little too much like Ianto._

_The CCTV was a no-go. It shorted out ten minutes after their conversation and didn’t come back on until it was manually rebooted the next morning. John had winked at the camera and Jack had almost smashed the monitor. He had Gwen and Lois scouring the nearby cameras, Johnson searching the streets. It was three days before they found him, and to their surprise, Andy got there first._

* * *

Jack fumbled with the keys. It had been a long three days. There had been a time distortion at a little old church. The distortion in itself hadn’t been a big problem. A signal from a vortex manipulator had sealed it up tight. The problem was that the church was right next to a Weevil nest. Jack hated Weevils and he definitely hated thirty of them running rampant in Splott.

It was times like these that he really missed Owen. Torchwood needed their King of the Weevils. It still hurt now, both Owen and Tosh. Everyone Jack loved and lost still hurt. But after two and a half years, they had grown manageable. Ianto hadn’t.

Jack finally managed to get the key in the lock. He and Johnson had managed to get the final Weevils locked away with only minor injuries. He’d left her at the Hub to patch herself up and headed straight home. He’d finally accepted that it was home, for better or worse. He needed food, a shower, and sleep, preferably in that order.

He checked his watch as he pushed open the door. It was past midnight, not bad for Torchwood. Everyone else had gone home around eight. Part of Gwen’s attempt to keep a regular schedule. The flat was dark and quiet. Mostly. As Jack closed and locked the door, the light in the bedroom clicked on.

* * *

_“I’m beginning to like the look of you in there,” Jack said, tone lighter than his eyes betrayed. John was back in a cell, disarmed again, and with his hands cuffed behind him. He smirked, but it was weak._

_“If you wanted me in cuffs, all you had to do was ask,” John said with a raise of an eyebrow. Jack took a step closer. He held a small box in one hand, and the other lingered near his gun._

_“Oh, I know. Turns out Sergeant Davidson did too.” Jack tried not to let his distaste show. Andy was helpful, sure, but Jack didn’t like him. He’d called Andy in a last-ditch attempt to find John by enlisting the police. Turned out that John had been holed up at Andy’s flat._

_“He’s sweet,” John said. “I’d say he was too good for me, but as it turns out he’s a traitorous bitch, he’s just my type.” Jack shuddered._

_“You both need better taste in men.” John grinned shark-like, but Jack frowned. “Why didn’t you run?” He questioned. John said nothing, just tilted his head. “You escaped, and you killed me again, and you murdered Alonso. But you didn’t run, at least not far enough.”_

_“So, why haven’t you killed me?” John asked, stepping closer. “You’re right. I murdered your little knock-off Eye Candy. And now you’ve got me all trussed up and at your mercy.” He shrugged his shoulders and the cuffs rattled. “Why am I still breathing?”_

_“Oh, believe me, John,” Jack said lowly. “I’m so mad I could snap your fucking neck. Unfortunately, you might be useful,” John smirked._

_“So what’s in the box?” Jack opened it and showed him. John swore in a language he hadn’t heard in years._

* * *

The bedroom door swung open silently. Jack shrugged his coat off his shoulders and knelt to undo his boots. 

“You have your own flat, you know,” he said without much bite. It was an old argument that Jack had lost two months ago.

“Your bed’s better,” John replied smoothly, leaning against the doorframe. His hair was mussed by sleep, and he wore a pair of Jack’s sweatpants, the drawstring cinched tight to make up for the size difference. “I take it the Weevil situation is over?” Jack nodded.

“We can start releasing them once the arton radiation dies down.” Boots off, Jack stood and stretched. “Until then, you’re taking care of them.” John made a noise of disgust, and Jack shot him a look. “Relax, you’re good in the cells.” Jack walked a few steps further into the flat then froze. Food or shower?

“There’s Chinese takeaway in the fridge,” John said, coming closer. Jack blinked. He hadn’t said that aloud, had he? John smiled softly. “You’ve got that look, the one that says you were so focused on everyone else that you forgot to eat.” Jack’s stomach chose that moment to growl. Traitor.

“Thanks,” Jack said begrudgingly. Sometimes he hated how well John knew him. Although, he’d really brought that upon himself. Close quarters bred intimacy after all.

* * *

_“Five years,” Jack offered. He pulled out the thick silver cuff and dropped the box on the ground. “You owe me five years. Far less than you deserve, but as much as I’m willing to handle.” John watched him, his face carefully neutral. “Now, you can spend that in a cell next to Brad,” Brad punctuated the statement with a loud growl. “or you can work for me.”_

_“Work for you?” John said incredulously. “I have no desire to join your little team.” Jack shrugged._

_“Then I’ll see you in five years.” Jack took three steps away before-_

_“Wait.” Jack grinned and turned back around. John was standing tall, his overconfident posture betraying his nerves. “Five years and I’m free?”_

_“You show your face on Earth again and I’ll kill you, but yes. You can go anywhere else and whore and con as you please. Now, step back from the glass.” Jack ordered. John raised an eyebrow, but complied, backing up until his heels brushed the brick. Jack pulled out his swipe card and opened John’s cell. He stepped inside and pulled the door shut with a click._

_“Turn around,” Jack said, reaching in his pocket for the key to the handcuffs._

_“Now this brings back memories.” John quipped as he spun around. Jack tried not to smile. They had spent a fair amount of time in jail together. Not all of it had been good. He kept his face blank and undid John’s cuffs. He shoved them in a pocket and held up the silver cuff._

_“Give me your hand.”_

* * *

Jack tossed the empty carton in the bin and stifled a hiccup. He’d definitely eaten too fast. John had wisely disappeared back into the bedroom. Jack had never been the neatest eater, and a hundred years of changing etiquettes had done nothing to help.

He flipped off the lights in the kitchen and made his way toward the bedroom. Despite what hid in it, Jack had always liked the dark. No pressure to perform when you can’t be seen. Pushing open the door, Jack was relieved to find that the main light had been turned off, leaving only a small lamp on the bedside table.

John lifted his head when Jack closed the door. He was lying on his side of the bed, unchanged from Agency days. It was so familiar, and yet so different. He sat up and gave Jack a ‘come-hither’ look. Jack shrugged his braces off his shoulders.

“I should really take a shower,” Jack said reluctantly. John swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion. Jack’s eyes went instantly to the bullet scar on his side. Six months old, and in stark contrast to his otherwise unblemished skin. Damn nanogenes. 

“That can wait till morning.” John purred, crossing the distance between them in three steps. “We can even have a lie-in. It’s not like the boss can complain.” John laid a hand on Jack’s chest.

“Technically, Gwen’s the boss,” Jack argued half-heartedly as John deftly undid buttons.

“When did you become one for technicalities?” John said, pulling Jack’s shirt off his shoulders, revealing the white undershirt. Jack opened his mouth but John pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t answer.” John leaned in closer, up on his toes, breath hot on Jack’s neck. “Just come to bed.”

* * *

_Jack closed the thick cuff around John’s left wrist. He ran a finger along the split and the metal sealed tight and shrunk to fit snugly. John twisted his hand, his face one of restrained impress._

_“Where’d you get smartsilver?” he asked, lightly tugging at the edge and getting no give. “They didn’t perfect that until the mid-34th century.”_

_“Fell through the Rift.” Jack stepped back and admired his handiwork. About half of the Archives had survived the explosion, and Jack went trawling once he’d realized that he needed to keep John around. “Haven’t had much reason to use it.”_

_“What’s the range?” John asked. Jack reached in his pocket and pulled out John’s vortex manipulator. John’s eyes widened. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to see that again. Well, it was half of his value. Jack held it out and John all but snatched it from his hand._

_“No time travel. Teleport only if I authorize it.” Jack explained as John strapped his VM back on. They’d used something similar in the Academy, back when they’d first received their vortex manipulators. Couldn’t just let a bunch of barely adults have access to all of time and space. “And if you step foot out of Wales, it’ll shock you so hard your hair will stand up for a month.”_

_“Kinky,” John drawled. Jack was trying to think of an appropriate response when his mobile went off. Jack fished it out of his coat while John watched curiously. Jack listened for a moment, snapped an affirmative, then dropped his mobile back in his pocket._

_“We’ve got Weevils in Cathays,” Jack said, patting his pockets for the swipe card. “You’re coming with.” He came up empty, then sighed as John pulled the card out of god-knew-where. “Welcome to Torchwood.”_

* * *

John pushed Jack onto the bed. He went willingly, letting John pull his undershirt off and kiss his way up his chest. Normally, he was a more active participant, but tonight, he was content to lie back and let John have his wicked way. John kissed his neck, then murmured something against his skin.

“What?” Jack asked, hands coming up to John’s hips. John froze, and even in the dim light, Jack swore he could see a blush rise on his cheeks.

“Nothing,” John lied, then dove in to kiss him. John kissed like a punch, but tonight, he was almost gentle. Jack was instantly suspicious. Not that they couldn’t take it slow, but usually, they fucked with the same vigor with which they lived. 

Jack rolled them and took advantage of their new position to kiss along John’s scar. He felt guilty about the shot, but not much. John could be the most aggravating bastard. Despite the cause, Jack loved scars. They showed that their bearer was a survivor. And since Jack couldn’t get any new scars himself, he found them rather attractive.

“Tell me what you said,” Jack ordered, pressing down John’s shoulders, and slowly grinding his hips. His turn to be pinned, John made a low noise in the back of his throat and let his eyes flutter shut. “Can’t leave a man hanging.”

“I said I was happy,” John admitted, so quietly Jack almost missed it. He kept his eyes shut, unwilling or unable to meet Jack’s gaze. “I’m a prisoner in bloody 21st century Wales, and somehow I’m fucking _happy_.” Jack’s eyes went instantly to the dampener on his wrist. Emotions flickered through him faster than he could name them. Then he smiled and leaned in to kiss John once, just a peck.

“It’s because you have me again,” Jack said lightly. He lifted his hands and John opened his eyes. He was taken aback by what deep sorrow he saw in them.

“Mind, body, heart, and soul.” John murmured. “I love you, but I really don’t have you.” Jack just blinked in surprise. “Mind, maybe. Have to spare a thought for the prisoner in your bed.” John reached up and rolled them again, legs gripping Jack’s waist tightly. “Body, now, that’s true.” He ran a hand along Jack’s shoulder. “I did miss this body.”

“John, what are you talking about?” Jack questioned. He tried to gently squirm free, but John held him fast.

“Your heart belongs to everyone. And you’ve shared part of it with me, but not enough.” He kissed Jack again, just another blow to add to Jack’s confusion. “And I don’t believe in the soul.” Jack’s mind was spinning. John had him again, and that was all he’d ever wanted. So why did he sound so bitter?

“John, I love you,” Jack tried, both lying and not in three simple words. John sighed, and got off Jack. Jack sat up, still bewildered.

“Then prove it.” John challenged, hands resting on his hips. Jack looked him over, then realized his intent. John had always hated feeling trapped. And even if Jack’s device was far less lethal than his brother’s, the effect on John must be the same. Jack sighed.

“Please don’t make me regret this.” Jack pled. Then he reached out and took John’s left wrist. John shuddered as Jack ran a finger over the smartsilver and the cuff came undone. The flesh underneath was unharmed, if a bit paler. Jack set the cuff aside while John twisted his wrist. John would deny the tears in his eyes, but they were there.

“Thank you,” John whispered, then pulled Jack in for a deep kiss. John’s pheromones crashed over him in waves while his hands fumbled with Jack’s buckle. Jack started to relax. He was always good for some make-up sex, even when he wasn’t quite sure if there’d been a fight. John pulled Jack’s belt free.

“For all have sinned and fall short,” John said, voice again unreadable. “And the dust returns to the earth as it was.” Jack was once again bewildered. What the fuck? Was John quoting- “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” John continued, raising a hand to caress Jack’s cheek. “So remember me; I will remember you.” John met his eyes, and Jack suddenly understood so much, and yet so little.

“John, what are you going to-” John pressed a finger to his lips for the second time that night. Jack resisted the urge to laugh. He trusted, and he loved, and this brilliant man played him like a fiddle.

“The last enemy to be destroyed is death,” John said, weighing the words carefully. He pulled his hands back, but Jack didn’t move. “I’ll be back soon. Trust me.” Jack nodded, agreeing to a possibility he couldn’t voice. John moved, shifting behind him. He pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, then wrapped the belt around it and pulled. Jack’s hands instinctively clawed at his throat, but John didn’t let go. 

“It is finished.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week, the penultimate chapter and the first of two alternate endings


	7. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he couldn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter/ending one of two, babey! Enjoy :)

Jack hated being alone. Humans were a social species and a few thousand years out among the stars hadn’t erased that. If anything, it had amplified it. He’d only met a handful of ‘modern’ humans who were as tactile as him. It didn’t help that society oversexualized and/or over-romanticized every touch. It was better than the past century, but not a lot. And Jack was lonely.

Two weeks ago, Martha had decided to move back to London, taking Mickey with her, and leaving Jack without a doctor or tech support. She’d given Jack a list of possible replacements, but none of them had stood out. 

Two days ago, an alien bomb had fallen through the Rift. It had landed in the middle of a park and would have caused a major panic and a lot more deaths if it hadn’t been for the courage of an A&E doctor and her techie girlfriend. Jack all but hired them on the spot.

Two hours ago, he’d been standing with Felicity (the doc) and Mara (the tech) on the Millenium Centre roof. They’d taken the news of his immortality surprisingly well, and for that, Jack was grateful. He’d told them to report bright and early to the Plass, then sent them on their way.

Twenty minutes ago, he’d heard the beep from his wrist strap. This time, there wasn’t a hologram, just coordinates and ‘please.’ He murmured apologies to the lady he’d been chatting up and left the bar, leaving his water half-drunk on the table.

Two minutes ago, Jack had made it to the roof he’d been pushed from years ago, and he’d waited. Luckily, it wasn’t much longer before he heard familiar footfalls. Jack turned and winced at the sight.

John looked like shit. One sleeve of his coat was covered in scorch marks, and the other had been shorn clean away, revealing a bloodied bandage wrapped around his upper arm. As he stepped closer, Jack realized he was limping. His sword was gone, and so was one of his handguns. His shirt was torn and Jack could tell that the skin underneath was mottled with bruises.

“What happened?” Jack asked, unsure what else to say. John shrugged and the pain of the motion played across his face.

“I failed.” His voice was hoarse as if he’d been crying or coughing. “How long has it been?”

“A little over a year.” Tomorrow marked three years since Ianto’s death. Actually, Jack checked his watch, make that today. “Failed what?” Jack asked. John stepped closer and his leg buckled underneath him. He would have collapsed entirely if Jack hadn’t swooped in and caught him. John swore in pain then coughed as Jack helped him over to sit on the ledge.

“I couldn’t get him back,” John admitted, his breathing ragged. “I tried. But it was so close to a fixed point.” Jack flinched. Did John meant him, or did he mean Steven’s death? He wasn’t certain that it was a fixed point, but all signs pointed to yes.

“Reapers?” Jack asked uncertainly. John shook his head.

“Time Agents.” John laughed bitterly. “Some bloke I didn’t know and Hester.” Jack winced in sympathy. “I see you remember Hester.” Every Time Agent was fucked up in some way; Hester had been a pyro. “I jumped too close and they detected me. Redirected me to a warehouse and then set it ablaze.” John coughed again. “After the other guy kicked the crap out of me.”

“Why’d you come here?” Jack asked. “You sound like you’re about to die.” John tried his best to stifle the next cough. He looked tired, both physically and mentally. He needed at minimum twelve hours of sleep and probably some morphine.

“I said I would come back.” Jack felt a pang of guilt. Honestly, he’d doubted that he’d ever see John again. He’d revived certain that every kind word and touch had been a ploy to escape; just another way John had conned him. But John was back, and he smiled weakly. “I’d’ve been back sooner, but the Rift makes it hard to land accurately. It’s only been three days for me.”

“You should go,” Jack said suddenly, and John looked _hurt._ “Not _leave_ , but leave, and go take advantage of future healthcare,” John looked hurt for an entirely different reason. He lifted his arm and Jack winced at the deep slash in his wrist strap.

“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted. Jack gently took his arm. “He wanted to make sure I didn’t get out alive.” The leather casing had been torn open, revealing the mechanism inside. 

Vortex manipulators were tricky. Jack’s had survived a close-range explosion, but he’d known some that got busted from their owner tripping and falling. They were a lot like humans that way. The damage to John’s seemed fairly minor, the leather had done its job. But Jack could see why he didn’t want to chance another jump.

“Lucky for you, I’ve just hired a new tech and a new doctor,” Jack said cheerfully, burying the pang that came when thinking about Tosh and Owen. “I’ll call them in, we can get you fixed up, and then you can jump back and try-”

“I’m not going back there.” John snapped. Jack stared at him in shock and John bristled under his gaze. “It’s too risky. Even if I went back to a different time, the Agency is aware of the incursion now. They’d kill me.” John got to his feet, ignoring the shudder of pain that raced through him. “I’m sorry. But he’s gone.” John tried to walk away, but Jack stopped him with a hand to the chest.

“You cannot just walk away.” Jack hissed. “You cannot give me hope and then do nothing to follow through.” John slapped him, suddenly and hard, much harder than Jack thought he could have. Jack took a startled step backward as John shook his hand out and swore.

“I had you!” John almost shouted. “And I left you because I knew you wanted him more.” Jack flinched. It was true, but Jack had tried his best not to let it show. He’d never said the wrong name or anything so severe, but John knew him well. He knew when Jack was wanting.

“And then,” John continued, tone cold but pained. “I almost fucking died trying to get him back for you. I faced Hester, and choked on the smoke; not to mention I might be stuck in this backward time. And you had the gall to say I did nothing?” Jack’s face burned, both from the slap and from shame. Even still, there was rage building in his stomach.

“You could have tried harder,” Jack said and the effect was the same as if he had slapped John back. “You knew about the protocol for fixed points. You could have gone back further-”

“And what? Kidnapped him and destroyed the timeline?” John threw his hands up, exasperated. “I was trying to save him without the world falling to ruin and reapers.” He reached into the ruins of his coat and pulled something out. “I need to get to him asap post-mortem so I could use this.” He opened his hand and showed Jack the chip nestled in his palm.

“Is that… Mire tech?” Jack asked, racking his brain to remember anything more. John nodded.

“A Mire repair kit.” Jack reached for it and John pulled his hand away. “Got it from a young human lady last time I was on Vondur Úlfur.” John leaned in closer and locked eyes with Jack. “She was immortal.” Jack couldn’t stop the gasp.

“Are you sure?” Jack asked, tone hushed. He knew that there were other immortals out there. But the majority were like Time Lords, their natural life spans longer than the average human. But if this lady was human...

“Recovered from a bullet to the head and two to the chest.” John grinned lopsidedly and shrugged when Jack shot him a suspicious look. “She owed me. Anyway, I bought her a drink with her own money and got her talking by bitching about you. Turned out the chip made her immortal way back in the 9th century. The man who gave it to her gave her a second one, but she hadn’t found someone she wanted to keep around. So I shot her again and took it.”

“That’s horrible, John,” Jack said, although he hadn’t really expected anything different. John just shrugged. “Then why didn’t you use it yourself?” Jack asked skeptically. John glared at him.

“I know the perils of immortality and I’m not an idiot,” John said, tone almost genuinely offended. “Plus, I tried. It was modified for human use and turns out the 4% of me that’s xeno was enough to trip it out. I was going to sell it, but never found the right buyer.” Jack clenched his fists.

“So you were going to make Ianto immortal then hold him over my head?” he spat. It was a wild accusation and they both knew it. John laughed then started to cough, this time a lot harder. Despite his anger, Jack started to worry.

“You really need to see a doctor.” Jack cursed himself internally. He should have dealt with this right away. John was good at distracting from the obvious. Jack reached out a hand and John swatted it away.

“I’m fine,” John hissed. Oh great, now he was getting stubborn. It belatedly occurred to him that John probably _had_ taken something for the pain. And that something was probably addling his brain. He hoped it was that and not lack of oxygen or some sort of gas.

“John, you’re not thinking straight.” This just led to another laughing/coughing fit that ended with John staggering back over to the ledge. He smiled painfully.

“No, no, I’m thinking just fine,” John said. Jack raised an eyebrow. John didn’t notice, he was busy messing with his vortex manipulator. “And I’m going to fix it.” Jack felt any anger washed away by cold dread. He wasn’t that stupid, was he? “I’m going to make it right for you. It’s the only fucking thing I’m good for now.”

“Going back there now is suicide, John,” Jack hissed, towering over him. “Even if you make it, you can’t get past Hester when you can hardly stand up.” A spark came from John’s wrist but he barely seemed to notice. He stood shakily, shoved Jack away from him, and drew his remaining gun.

“You can’t stop me.” His aim was true, but his hand was shaking. Jack raised his hands. This was getting to be a habit, and not a fun one. John grinned, then carefully swapped the gun to his right hand, leaving the left free to finish programming his jump. Jack needed a new tactic, and fast.

“You’re leaving me alone,” he said coldly. John didn’t falter, but Jack caught the twitch in his face. “You’re right. I want Ianto, and I will always want Ianto.”

“You’re not good at this talking down trick.” John quipped, but it was forced. 

“I wasn’t finished,” Jack said, voice falling into his ‘captain’ tone. It was a dirty trick, but it kept John’s attention. “I love him, but I love you too. And I’m sorry if I let you forget that.” He took a step closer and John shifted the gun from his head to his chest. Easier target and a slower death.

“I’m almost done, so keep back.” John snapped. His gaze softened slightly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“If you die, it’ll hurt me,” Jack admitted. John flinched properly this time. “If you want to try and get him back again, you can. But come with me now, and get fixed up. Please don’t leave me alone.” John seemed to consider it, and for a second, Jack had hope. Then he shook his head and stepped up on the ledge.

“You’ll be alone forever if I can’t save him for you.” John smiled. “Goodbye, lover.” He pressed the final button with a flourish and the glow of the Rift started to surround him. Jack swore but resisted the urge to tag along. That would only go badly with his manipulator busted as it was. But at least it seemed to be working.

John flickered. Shit, spoke too soon. Flickering, bad sign. John noticed and frowned, looking at his VM. It chose that moment to explode, sending caustic smoke into John’s face. He coughed once, began to flicker more heavily, and _screamed_. 

Jack couldn’t look away. He’d seen manipulator malfunctions before, and they weren’t pretty. But he couldn’t look away. John’s scream tore at his chest. There was nothing he could do. 

John stumbled backward, and fell, still screaming. Until he wasn’t. There was no thud, but Jack didn’t look. There would be something left; something he didn’t need to see.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered. Then he turned and walked away. He needed a drink.


	8. Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he could

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!! I can't believe I started writing this in quarantine and now I will finish posting it still in quarantine because my god are we bad at collectively handling things. Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!

_Jack hated being alone. Humans were a social species and a few thousand years out among the stars hadn’t erased that. If anything, it had amplified it. He’d only met a handful of ‘modern’ humans who were as tactile as him. It didn’t help that society oversexualized and/or over-romanticized every touch. It was better than the past century, but not a lot. And Jack was lonely._

_Two weeks ago, Martha had decided to move back to London, taking Mickey with her, and leaving Jack without a doctor or tech support. She’d given Jack a list of possible replacements, but none of them had stood out._

_Two days ago, an alien bomb had fallen through the Rift. It had landed in the middle of a park and would have caused a major panic and a lot more deaths if it hadn’t been for the courage of an A &E doctor and her techie girlfriend. Jack all but hired them on the spot. _

_Two hours ago, he’d been standing with Felicity (the doc) and Mara (the tech) on the Millenium Centre roof. They’d taken the news of his immortality surprisingly well, and for that, Jack was grateful. He’d told them to report bright and early to the Plass, then sent them on their way._

_Twenty minutes ago, he’d heard the beep from his wrist strap. This time, there wasn’t a hologram, just coordinates and ‘please.’ He murmured apologies to the lady he’d been chatting up and left the bar, leaving his water half-drunk on the table._

_Two minutes ago, Jack had made it to the roof he’d been pushed from years ago, and he’d waited. Luckily, it wasn’t much longer before he heard familiar footfalls. Jack turned and winced at the sight._

John’s left eye was badly swollen, and Jack noticed a slight limp to his gait as he got closer. Even so, he smiled when he saw Jack waiting for him.

“What happened to you?” Jack asked once they were within talking distance. John shrugged.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” The grin didn’t drop. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Over a year,” Jack said, voice forced neutral. Ianto had been gone for three now. John nodded, corner of his mouth twisting downward as he stepped closer. 

“You’ve been lonely,” John murmured. Jack would have kissed him if John hadn’t beaten him to it, cupping Jack’s face in a hand. He tasted faintly of blood. John’s thumb stroked along his cheekbone, then he pulled away reluctantly. 

“Missed me?” Jack teased lightly. Jack glimpsed something deeper in John’s face before he smiled, charismatic and insincere.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s only been a fortnight on my end.” John took a deliberate step backward. Jack tried not to let the shock show, both at the time difference and John’s distance. He was almost as tactile as Jack and far clingier. For him to refuse Jack’s touch, well-

“Did you do what you needed to?” Jack asked, questioning gently. John nodded. “And? Are you back to stay?” Jack couldn’t stop the bit of hope from creeping into his tone. John obviously didn’t miss it judging by the flinch.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” John said softly. He seemed to be struggling with something and Jack just wanted to sweep him into his arms. He wasn’t sure how John would take it, so he didn’t. “I love you, Jack.” 

“I love you too,” Jack responded, confused. He grew even more confused when John let out a piercing whistle. Jack flinched, but nothing seemed to happen. John just stood there, his expression almost melancholic. “What was that?” Jack demanded.

“You’ll see,” John said, plastering on that fake smile again. “He won’t be long.”

“He who?” Jack asked. He had an idea, an inkling of hope, but instantly crushed it. John knew better. John raised a finger to his lips.

“Spoilers,” he chided. Jack rolled his eyes.

“Fine.” Jack looked over John again. He couldn’t see an obvious cause for the limp, which was probably good. In fact, aside from his eye, John seemed unharmed. “What’s with the limp?” Jack asked, trying to catch him off guard. It almost worked.

“These boots are made for walkin’,” John said, lifting a leg to slap the side of one. “Not so much for running.” Jack resisted the urge to laugh.

“So you rolled your ankle?” Jack clarified. John stuck out his tongue and Jack did laugh. “You never were one for practicality.”

“Look who’s talking, World War II.” John bit back lazily. Jack resisted the urge to go for the cheap shot about John’s own coat. Seriously, he looked like a hussar at best or a ringmaster at worst. Not subtle, but it worked so very well for him. “Not going to ask about the eye?”

“What eye?” Jack asked innocently, resisting the urge to smirk. “You look fine to me.”

“Oh, fuck you, Harkness.” John huffed, reaching up a hand to gingerly touch his face. Jack laughed.

“Alright, I give. What happened?” Jack asked, expecting a bad joke or an over-exaggeration of a fight. What he didn’t expect was the deathly familiar voice coming from behind him.

“I’m afraid that’s my fault.” Jack stiffened. That was impossible. He locked eyes with John, but John was looking past him and smirking. Jack didn’t want to turn. He didn’t want to break the illusion.

“You’ve got a wicked right hook, I’ll give you that.” John bantered smoothly. Jack was tempted to make his eyes match. This was the cruelest thing he could have done.

“John, why?” Jack spat angrily. “Why the fuck would you do this?”

“Jack?” The voice came again. Jack sighed and turned around. Ianto was standing there, brow creased with worry. “It’s me.” He had the same cut on his cheek that he’d had when he died. Different suit; red shirt and a slim dark tie. He looked radiant and so temptingly real. Jack shut his eyes.

“You’re dead.” And he was dreaming. He had to be. Why else would both John and Ianto be there? That was the sort of shit that only happened in dreams. He’d open his eyes and he’d be alone in his bed and he’d go give a tour to the new staff and he’d be _fine_. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s alive. And he’s the genuine article.” John said. He sounded as honest as he ever had. And Jack wanted so badly to believe him. He opened his eyes. Ianto was still there, now close enough to touch. Worry still showed on his face and Jack wanted nothing more than to kiss it away. 

“I’m not going to vanish if you touch me,” Ianto complained, and even though it was half-hearted, it was so very Ianto. Jack took a deep breath, then gently reached for his hand. Ianto rolled his eyes and pulled Jack in for a deep kiss.

It was cliche, recognizing someone via kiss. But it was a cliche they’d lived before and Jack had a feeling they’d live it again. For now, Jack was the happiest he’d been in years and he clung to Ianto like he would disappear if he let go. Even when they broke the kiss, he didn’t let go, all but suffocating Ianto in a hug.

“Ribs,” Ianto wheezed after a few moments. Jack let go then but didn’t step back. It was _Ianto_ alive and well and-

After a moment’s consideration, Jack turned and punched John in the face. He hit the ground with a satisfying crunch, and Jack followed him down, pinning him roughly. 

“How fucking stupid are you? Messing with my timeline?” Jack spat, barely resisting the urge to punch him again. He needed answers and for that, he needed John conscious. John looked up at him, a bruise forming on his cheek and eyes slightly unfocused. “You could have set off a paradox! Or been attacked by reapers!” John chuckled lightly; Jack wasn’t amused.

“I know the dangers of fiddling with time,” John said, tone far too condescending for a man in his position. “I was careful.” Jack snorted. John’s definition of careful left much to be desired. “And now you have Eye Candy. No reapers, no Time Agents, no paradox.”

“Why should I trust you?” Jack hissed, digging his fingers into John’s shoulder. He flinched but didn’t make a sound. God, he could make John _hurt_ if he wanted.

“Jack, he’s telling the truth,” Ianto said from behind him. “Let him up and we can talk about it.”

“I can’t just let him go,” Jack said harshly. He dug in deeper, could feel the bruises forming under his touch. John made a noise in the back of his throat, almost a whimper. Jack didn’t care. John could have ruined everything. His other hand made its way to John’s throat.

“Lial,” John gasped before Jack could start to squeeze. Jack instantly pulled his hands away, and John bucked him off. His head hit the ground and he stared up for a moment, dazed. Then Ianto was next to him, helping him sit up. John was on his feet, hand near his gun, but making no move to attack. The pain was fading and Jack shot John a look.

“Did you really just fucking safeword?’ Jack asked disbelievingly. John shrugged.

“Worked, didn’t it? Now we can talk,” he said, grinning triumphantly. Jack mumbled something about ungrateful partners but nodded. John sat, still a safe distance away, and beckoned for Jack to ask. Ianto took Jack’s hand, steady and silent support. 

“I remember him dying,” Jack said, voice almost breaking on the last word. “Choking on the gas with me.” Ianto flinched slightly and gripped Jack’s hand tighter. John nodded, almost frowning.

“I needed to keep the timeline intact. Your grandson’s death was, unfortunately, a fixed point. So, Eye Candy had to die, and you had to destroy the so-called 456.” John’s voice was calm, the forced calm he resorted to when things weren’t as he liked.

“But I’m alive,” Ianto stated simply. It wasn’t a question, and Jack realized he was the only one out of the loop. John nodded again.

“And yet you died in Thames House.” John grinned. “Was a rather neat trick I pulled on the universe, wasn’t it?” Jack resisted the urge to snap at him, taking a deep breath instead.

“So how’d you do it?” Jack asked. John opened his mouth to respond, but Jack held up a finger. “And if you say ‘spoilers’, Ianto won’t be able to stop me this time.”

“I was going to say nothing of the sort,” John said with a grin that said he was. “I realized that while Ianto Jones had to die with you in Thames House, he didn’t have to be the only Ianto Jones.” Jack let go of Ianto’s hand.

“So he’s a clone?” Jack asked. He’d dealt with clones before. But depending on the type, they didn’t last long. He felt his heart drop. Of course, it was too good to be true.

“Not him. The one who died with you, yes.” John shook his head. “It’s rather complex. He remembers dying with you because he was controlling the clone, unaware he was a clone.” Jack casts a look at Ianto. He’s pale, but not as scared as one should be facing their own mortality. He’d heard this before.

“So what variety of clone?” Jack asked, forcing his mind back to facts. John had to have jumped forward to get anything suitable, but lots of races were clone races or had perfected cloning. If you knew where to look, it was easy to get your hands on the tech.

“The Flesh,” John said, tone almost reverent. Jack blinked and tried to remember. He’d seen the Flesh once, long ago, when he went home with John on leave. Using Gangers for labor was considered crude and inhumane in most civilized corners of the galaxy. But it was profitable and John’s family knew that, so they used Gangers in their silver mines. 

‘Argentum Potestas Est,’ John had said when they’d first arrived at his frozen palatial estate. A family motto dating back to Earth days and the language dating even farther. John had learned his bastard ways early, as well as his appreciation for the finer things.

“So the Ianto who died in my arms?” Jack asked. “That was a Ganger?” Ianto laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Got it in one.” John spread his hands dramatically. “I caught the real Eye Candy the day before Thames House, while he was on his little crime spree. Swapped him out and sent the Ganger back to your little warehouse with you all none the wiser.”

“How did you know where to find him? We were on the run.” Jack asked. John grinned.

“I was always good at recon.” Jack raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I also asked Gwen and Lois for details.”

“Not Johnson?” Jack asked, then winced at the glare John shot him in return. Right. Despite their similarities, they had never gotten on. Maybe they were too similar, or maybe John was just bitter that Johnson had never agreed to sleep with him. Jack had never asked.

“I found a safe space to keep the tech,” John said, pointedly ignoring Jack. “And then kept an eye on him until the Ganger was decommissioned.”

“I died in your arms, Jack,” Ianto said, picking up the story. “Then I woke up with John leering over me.”

“I wasn’t leering,” John protested. “I was just trying to get you out of the harness. Which you thanked me for with this.” John gestured dramatically toward his bruised eye. Jack resisted the urge to snicker. That was his Ianto alright.

“I already apologized.” Ianto’s tone was chilled, but not cold. Even he couldn’t stay very mad at the man who saved his life. A refreshing irony from him taking Jack’s. Ianto smiled slightly and raised an eyebrow. “Why did you save me?”

“Hm?” John seemed unconcerned, but Jack noticed the twitch of his hand. 

“Why did you go to all the trouble?” Ianto shrugged. “Surely, my life wasn’t important enough to warrant Time Agency intervention. And the only person who would hire you freelance is Jack, and he had no clue.” Ianto stared John down so intently that Jack almost flinched himself. “So why did you save me, John?”

“Ianto, you are very important,” Jack said before John had a chance to speak. He kissed Ianto’s cheek while John nodded his agreement. “And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren’t.” Something flickered across Ianto’s face, but before Jack could question it, his attention was back on John.

“I’m important to Jack, but not to you. In fact, the last time I saw you, I threatened to kill you, slowly. So why?” Ianto said, crossing his arms stubbornly. “Tell me why.” John sighed, and got to his feet.

“I saved you _because_ you are important to Jack.” He turned his back on them but kept talking. “I’ll let him explain the finer details, but I owe him a debt. A life.” He turned back, grinning a grin that did not meet his eyes.

“So I’m payment?” Ianto spat, standing quickly. Jack followed him and laid a warning hand on his arm. John nodded.

“You mean nothing to me, Eye Candy,” John said patronizingly. “And I love Jack, but not enough to let him keep me captive. So, congrats, gorgeous, you’re bail.” He gave a little mock-bow. Jack frowned. John was lying. Jack had let him go. And he’d run out on debts far lesser than this before and he surely would again. He had some ulterior motive.

“You’re a bastard,” Ianto said sharply, but John just shrugged. He swaggered toward Ianto and the younger man flinched.

“And you’re alive!” John crowed, grinning wildly. He took Ianto’s face in his hands and kissed him on the forehead. Then he leaned and whispered into Ianto’s ear, quiet enough that Jack almost missed it. “Enjoy it while you can.” Ianto looked like he would have slapped John if he hadn’t retreated gracefully.

“So, are you leaving then?” Ianto asked, evident that he wanted the answer to be yes. Jack wasn’t sure what he wanted. His heart dropped slightly when John nodded.

“I’ll just say my farewells and then I’ll be out of your hair and your territory,” John smirked and turned his attention from Ianto to Jack. His face was unreadable as he made his way to Jack’s side. But then he smiled, genuine, but still hiding something.

“Where will you go?” Jack asked, casually tucking his hands in the pockets of his coat so he didn’t do something stupid.

“Dunno. Home again, maybe,” John said, and Jack hated the uncertainty in his tone. John leaned in and Jack expected to be kissed. Instead, John pressed their foreheads together, one hand curling loosely around Jack’s nape, gently holding him in place. 

“ _First, I have a few things to say.”_ Jack blinked at the change in language. Time Agency Standard. It had been a long time since he’d needed to speak TAS. _“Things you can disclose to lover-boy at your discretion.”_ It was always secrets and lies with John, and it always would be.

“ _Alright.”_ Jack agreed. _“What is it, partner?”_ He felt John’s other hand move and slip something into his pocket. Jack resisted the urge to take it out and look at it.

“ _A second part to your gift. A Mire immortality charge. Good for thousands of years minimum.”_ John’s voice would be giddy if it wasn’t tinged with sadness. “ _It’s permanent, so make sure he knows what he’s getting into.”_

 _“I can’t do that to him.”_ Jack protested. 

“ _Your choice. But I suggest you give him the option.”_ The hand went from his pocket to resting on his waist. Jack moved his own hands to match. It was nice having someone to hold again. _“He’s smart enough to make the right choice. You really picked a good one.”_

 _“Why did you bring him back? The real reason.”_ John sighed.

“ _Can’t get anything past you.”_ His voice was bitter, but not angry. “ _Because you love him, Jack. Because he makes you happy. Because he cares for you. Cherishes you with and in spite of your flaws. Because he’s better than me, and that’s what you deserve.”_ The last bit was rushed and mumbled but Jack still heard every word.

“J _ohn-"_ Jack said, except he didn’t say John. John stiffened and pulled away, arms crossing protectively over his chest.

“ _Tell him you love him, and be good to him.”_ John looked over at Ianto, who had been watching silently with curious eyes. “And you!” Ianto flinched, but John just smiled. “Have a good life. Love him well.” He lifted his arm, but Jack grabbed his wrist before he could open his bracer.

“Wait,” Jack said before kissing him roughly. John froze for a few seconds before responding in kind. When they broke apart, Jack still had a grasp on John’s wrist. “Stay?” Jack glanced over at Ianto, worried, but Ianto took one look at his face and nodded. “The team misses you.” John snorted.

“Now I know that’s a lie.” John slapped at Jack’s hand and he let go. “Gwen doesn’t trust me, Lois is scared of me, Johnson hates me, and Ianto will be glad to see the back of me.” He flipped open his bracer and started punching in coordinates. “Why should I stay?”

“Because I want you to,” Jack said, standing tall. “Isn’t that enough?” John’s hand stalled. He cast a guilty glance toward Ianto.

“I shouldn’t.” John sounded genuinely reluctant, but with an edge that meant he was serious. “Eye Candy might think I’ve got designs on you.” 

“If Jack wants you around, I trust him,” Ianto said. “As long as you don’t take him away again or kill him or kill anyone else, we’re good.” Jack could have kissed him. John froze again, and for a second, Jack thought they’d won him over. But then he shook his head.

“I can’t,” John said, although his face told a different story. “I need time.” Jack almost laughed. They had nothing but time. Instead, he nodded and leaned in to kiss John’s cheek.

“You’re always welcome,” Jack promised. John smiled, the first genuine smile he’d seen all night. He pushed the final button and the familiar glow started to surround him.

“I’ll hold you to that.” John winked at Ianto and then he was gone, the rooftop eerily quiet. Jack turned to Ianto and smiled. Ianto was _alive_. And grinning at him bemusedly. Minor time loss, but Ianto was Torchwood and he would be among friends. He’d be just fine.

“So just what-”

“I love you.” Jack clapped a hand over his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say it now. Ianto had just died, and they’d been arguing over even calling themselves a couple before that. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ianto laughed in his face and then left. Instead, he smiled.

“I love you too.” Jack didn’t remember walking toward him, but suddenly Ianto was in his arms and he was crying or maybe laughing. Ianto was doing the same. Yeah. Yeah, they would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Flamingbluepanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flamingbluepanda/pseuds/Flamingbluepanda) for being an amazing beta and putting up with my bullshit
> 
> This is complete and updates will be regular on Sundays. Thanks for reading!


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